


"that's okay, i bought two."

by clickingkeyboards



Series: one hundred ways to say 'i love you' [34]
Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: F/F, Girlfriends - Freeform, Male-Female Friendship, Reunions, Spies, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21708847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards
Summary: Hazel worries at Daisy's lack of communications from Germany.Canon EraWritten for the thirty-fourth prompt in the '100 ways to say "I love you"' prompt list by p0ck3tf0x on Tumblr.
Relationships: Daisy Wells & Hazel Wong, Daisy Wells/Hazel Wong
Series: one hundred ways to say 'i love you' [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1533164
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	"that's okay, i bought two."

_ FITZBILLIES STOP SEVEN PM STOP BRING NO ONE STOP _

I am fairly sure that I am about to die or leave Fitzbillies missing a substantial amount of money.

As a code-breaker, I am here, there, everywhere, in bases across the country as I crack the secret codes of German spies and decipher the hidden meanings in fake love letters. For the last four months, we have taken up residence in Cambridge, living amongst scholars still studying who are having to take their exams in the kitchens because that is the only place not overrun by soldiers and code-breakers.

I haven’t left the code-breaking room except to sleep, and I wish I could say that it is because of my dedication, but I would be lying. My best friend in the world is a spy, spying for England in Germany to feed back to us about the war. As my position in Cambridge was not a planned transfer, I had no time to tell Daisy and so she cannot write to me or send me secret letters.

She could be dead, and I will never know.

George (a dear friend of mine) approaches me as I leave the offices in the university that myself and the other high-up code-breakers have been working in. “Hazel!” he says, reaching down to take my hand a pressing a kiss to my knuckles. Ever the gentleman, he then holds out his arm for me to loop my own through. “A telegram arrived for you, but at my rooms.” With a hand outstretched, he hands it to me.

_ FITZBILLIES STOP SEVEN PM STOP BRING NO ONE STOP _

“Do you want me to wait outside of Fitzbillies?” he asks, squeezing my hand. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“No.” I look up into his dark eyes and smile. “I’ll come to your rooms afterwards, I promise.”

When we reach his rooms, he turns to me and squeezes my hands. “I swear, we will hear from Daisy soon.”

I nod because I do not believe him. “I know.”

“Pray to those gods that Alexander and Daisy believe in,” he says, his fingers intertwining with my own. “They’ll be alright.”

I cannot find it in myself to agree.

* * *

When I arrive in Fitzbillies, I realise that I’ve forgotten my  _ fucking purse _ . Sitting down without my purse feels like I am committing some sort of crime, sitting there without planning to order because I am devoid of money.

“I don’t have my purse,” I say the moment I feel someone hovering behind my chair. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave.”

“That’s okay,” comes the reply. “I bought two.”

I know my shoulders square rather than feel that they do, and I turn to see a tall young woman wearing a fashionable blue coat and a red hat, fashionably short hair that Kitty would have called ‘dapper’ and a knowing look on her beautiful face.

“Daisy.”

“Surprised, Watson.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. After all these years, Daisy knows my every emotion from the subtle indications on my face.

“Yes,” I answer anyway, tears in my eyes as I clasp them over my mouth, getting to my feet to stare at the woman in front of me. “Are you a ghost?”

It is idiotic coming out of my mouth but I had resigned myself to the fact that Daisy had died. Not a word for months once I had arrived at Cambridge, no letters sent on from my old lodgings in Brighton and not a word hidden in the codes.

“No, Hazel. Heroines do not die.”


End file.
